


Victims of Circumstance - 16/20 – Lies and Directives

by motsureru



Series: Victims of Circumstance [16]
Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M, Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-22
Updated: 2008-02-22
Packaged: 2017-11-11 18:14:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/481414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motsureru/pseuds/motsureru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoilers for Season 1 and Season 2. This is a <b><span>sequel</span> </b>to <i>Any Other Night</i>, which is a <b><span>sequel</span></b> to <i>Broken Glass. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Victims of Circumstance - 16/20 – Lies and Directives

**Author's Note:**

> An enormous amount of thanks to [](http://etoile-dunord.livejournal.com/profile)[**etoile_dunord**](http://etoile-dunord.livejournal.com/), who edits my commas and makes me happy doing it.

**Teaser _:_**   _The moment Sylar’s brain could spend locked in complicated battle with the situation had ended.  
  
  
_

.16Lies and Directives

 

Sylar picked up the phone three minutes and seven seconds after he had killed Sebastian Godard. He spent those three minutes and seven seconds staring at the man, specifically at his empty skull where a brain should have been. Instead, there was a hollow inside from which crimson blood cascaded out across the white tiles. Instead, there was no reward for Sylar’s murder. Instead, there were more questions than answers, and none of them lead to Mohinder’s whereabouts.

Sylar spent that time in tense contemplation, ankles crossed as he leaned against the counter, bloody fingers to his lips and hand to an elbow. He focused in on the body, on the death, on the puzzle, and willed himself to keep calm, not to be frightened for Mohinder’s absence. He held inside all the terror he struggled not to feel; Sylar did his best not to lose control.

But three minutes and seven seconds later, that forced composure could last no longer, and his mental breakers did nothing to stop the wave of panic. The moment Sylar’s brain could spend locked in complicated battle with the situation had ended. He reached a hand towards the desk, staring at the phone as it shot towards his hand. He flipped open the device quickly and paged to Mohinder’s missed calls, where **N.B.** stood waiting. 

An instant of disgusted regret passed through Sylar. A certain feeling of defeat over having to ask this man for help overwhelmed him, and a strong sense of inadequacy had a moment to flood his thoughts. Then his concern for Mohinder overruled that irrational conclusion, and Sylar hit enter, pressing the phone to his ear. It rang only once.

“Mohinder? Mohinder are you alright?”

“It’s me, Bennet,” Sylar replied. His voice trembled for just a syllable and he took in a slow, deep breath. Calm. Stay calm.

Silence followed momentarily on the other end. Sylar was sure he could hear the fear emanating from the other man. Bennet had obviously expected someone else, and an emergency was not in Sylar’s possession alone, it appeared.

“Where’s Mohinder, Sylar.” It was not a question, but a demand. “I need to speak with him immediately.” Bennet’s voice had turned all business in seconds, hoping, Sylar knew, to disregard Sylar as he always did and speak only to the man he desired to do business with. 

“We have a problem, Bennet. I need your help,” Sylar said seriously in return, tone as flat and distrusting with Bennet as Bennet was with him.

“You’ve killed someone, haven’t you?” Bennet replied easily, throwing out the accusation without a thought. He glanced back at the Haitian, who merely stared, knowingly, at Bennet’s hurry.

Sylar frowned to himself, feeling the thin strand of camaraderie between himself and Bennet waning. “I have,” he replied simply. “But before you jump to conclusions, there’s a catch: he was working for the Company.”

Bennet felt a cold bolt of fear strike through his belly. “The Company is there?”

“I need your help, Bennet,” Sylar repeated. “This Godard guy. He was a plant all along.” Sylar glanced briefly down at the crimson-stained corpse at his feet. “They have Mohinder. You have to tell me- where would they take him? What do they need him for?” 

Bennet swore softly under his breath, staring down and putting a hand to his hip, wincing at the news. With Mohinder in their grasp, the Company had a bargaining chip, a strong one, against anything they could throw at them. And with Sylar as a powerful but loose cannon…

“Bennet, I’m talking to you,” Sylar insisted, voice growing tense. “I killed this man, but I have to tell you I don’t think he’s really dead. Now they have Mohinder and I’ll be damned if I sit here and do nothing,” he growled. “Now tell me where they would go!”

“Hartsdale, New York. The Company research facility and hospital is in Hartsdale. If they need him for their viral research, they’ll take Mohinder there,” Bennet breathed out between his teeth. He could feel his world beginning to crumble all around him, spinning out of control, his plans all for naught. What good had discovering the Company’s plan done if they couldn’t organize an offensive before the Company struck first? Would this be it for his cause? Would he have to give it up to protect his family from what was to come?

“Listen to me, Sylar,” Bennet began again, running a hand through his short hair anxiously. “The Company needs Mohinder for their own viral research. I’m sure you already know the dangers of it; if they inject someone with a strain that gets out and is contagious, we could be looking at a pandemic, not just people with abilities getting sick. We need to get Mohinder out of there, and we need to destroy their work.”

A scowl made its way across Sylar’s face, and he kicked the corpse in front of him to alleviate his frustration. Then he turned and began to walk out, tired of standing immobile. He had to get back to their apartment and get his passport, and fast. “This may come as a surprise to you, Bennet, but I was going to Hartsdale with or without your precious permission.”

“You may be able to break into the Company facility, Sylar, but you won’t be able to get out on your own alive. Or at least with _both_ of you alive. Meet up with us and we’ll-”

“Give me the phone, Noah.”

Bennet looked up to see the Haitian holding out his palm expectantly.

“Give me the phone,” the Haitian repeated calmly, his deep voice resonant.

“Listen, Bennet,” Sylar continued as he hurried down the building steps, “you can’t imagine what I’m truly capable of. I’ll burn that Company to the damned _gro-_ ”

“Mister Sylar,” the Haitian spoke into the phone. “Please listen to me for a moment.”

Pushing his way quickly out of the laboratory doors, Sylar broke into a run across the street. He weaved his way around the next building towards a back alley. He planned to use his telekinesis to mimic flight; he needed a faster way home than the public transportation system.

“I’m listening,” Sylar insisted to the new voice, only able to guess with whom he was speaking.

“I am a man of faith, Mister Sylar,” the Haitian began. “It is for this reason I am going to tell you not to go to Hartsdale, New York, first.”

Sylar stopped in his tracks, feet skidding across dirtied pavement. “Excuse me?”

“I am going to put before you a terrible temptation, Mister Sylar. But I ask that you remember there is strength in numbers, and I will have faith in your ability to resist temptation and submit to the power of your love for Doctor Suresh. If you help us, we will help you.”

Bennet gave the Haitian a perplexed look just as Sylar did the phone, neither sure what to make of those words.

“What in the hell are you talking about? Spit it out and stop wasting my time with your sentiments!” Sylar snarled.

The Haitian took a silent breath, preparing himself to speak to this murderous man what he had not even told Noah Bennet. “There is a man you must ask to become your aide if you wish to save Doctor Suresh from the Company and escape alive. Peter Petrelli lives. I suggest you get a ticket to Cork, Ireland, before you return to New York.”

A long silence persisted as Sylar stood in the darkness of an Orléans night, slowly grasping the reality of those words. Sylar’s eyes lowered to the ground, and he began to smile.

“Tell me everything.”

 

 

This time, when Mohinder woke, the world around him spun. When his eyes opened to bright lights and beeps, the very walls seemed to spin in a most sickening vertigo. He groaned softly, feeling his head throb almost in time with the high-pitched tone at his side, and for an instant he wondered if this pain was what Sylar felt when alien sounds invaded his sensitive ears against his will. 

Mohinder pulled his aching body up, only to find himself in a hospital bed. There was a tight bandage wrapped around his forehead and to the back of his head, where he felt the majority of his pain. He struggled for a moment with the memory of where he was, and suddenly the empty room around him appeared all the more terrifying; Sebastian was gone, and he was alone. There was a door with a window to his left side, and when Mohinder slid out of the bed and stood on shaky legs to peek out of the blinds, he saw the sturdy man who had knocked him out, Raymond, stood outside his door.

The man seemed to sense that he was being looked at, for he turned, eyeing Mohinder briefly, and then pulled a phone from his pocket to make a discreet call. Mohinder did not hesitate to pull open the door, though he had to hold onto it for balance briefly to keep from swaying.

“Where’s Sebastian?” Mohinder demanded. “I want to see your boss- this Bob fellow. And Pratt.” Mohinder felt his body give a slight waver again from his head injury, but he kept his voice clear and concise when he spoke, expression firm and angry as it had been when he attacked Albany Pratt.

Raymond merely stared down at Mohinder, unimpressed. “Bob is on his way, Doctor Suresh.” There was a tentative tone of respect in his voice, and Mohinder wondered what sort of ploy that was among these Company people. It made him think of Sylar, all manipulative gazes and friendly words in these situations, able to charm and fool his way through any conversation (if he chose to, given Sylar’s penchant for disregarding tact). Was Sylar on his way to him? Was Sylar aware of the danger Mohinder would face? Would he love Mohinder more for the things he might have to do to protect himself?

“You’re awake, Doctor Suresh.” The voice was friendly, cheery, almost, in how it addressed him. As if this was not a hostage situation.

Mohinder looked up and to his right to find an older man, a balding man of thinning hair, a little shake to his jowls when he spoke, and pale blue eyes behind casual glasses. He looked, in his suit, like a business man might. He looked harmless. But so had Bennet and Thompson in the past, hadn’t they?

“Are you Bob?” Mohinder asked, straightening his posture a little.

“I am, Bob Bishop.” Bob extended his hand to Mohinder with a smile, but the look withered when Mohinder merely glared at it. “You look tired, Doctor Suresh. Mohinder. May I call you Mohinder? We weren’t expecting you awake so soon. How does your head feel?”

“Like someone clobbered me over the back of it with a rock. Which is essentially what happened, I believe?” Mohinder replied smartly, throwing a bitter glance to Raymond on his other side.

Bob seemed to smile an empty smile at that. “In a way. I understand your suspicions, Mohinder-”

“Doctor Suresh is fine,” Mohinder snapped.

“…Doctor Suresh,” Bob corrected with a look at the darker man over his glasses. “But you must understand, it was vital you arrive and arrive safely in Westchester, and I couldn’t guarantee that safety if you took it upon yourself to kill Doctor Pratt. Which, I’m sorry to say, was an unfortunate move on your part. You might be feeling a lot better now if you had come quietly.”

Mohinder felt an anger rising inside, a burning hatred for this man’s false smiles and condescending words. The Company had plans for him, it seemed, and Mohinder wanted no more a part of them than he had when Thompson had reassured him with the same looks. “You kidnap me and Sebastian; you bludgeon us over the heads, toss us on a flight to America against our wills, and then expect us to work for you? Are you really foolish enough to think I’d want to help you?”

Bob folded his hands in front of himself with a short sigh. “I understand your frustration, Doctor Suresh, but you are, above all other things, a doctor. And right now we have someone very sick we need you to see.”

“Where is Sebastian?” Mohinder demanded, looking from Bob to his hired muscle. “I won’t see anyone until I know that he’s safe.”

Nodding to that, Bob motioned to his side. “Very well, Doctor Suresh. Sebastian is probably anxious to see you. Follow me.” He turned and began to walk down the hallway. With his back to Mohinder, Mohinder did indeed follow his lead. Mohinder could hear footsteps behind him. He imagined Raymond was following close, being careful to watch for Mohinder’s more violent tendencies.

As far as Mohinder could tell, this ‘hospital’ he was captive in was unlike any other; it had the distinct flavor of an office building haunting its structure. The walls were not entirely white, the lights not tinged with a hospital’s fluorescence, and there was not an abundance of nurses or doctors. In fact, Mohinder saw more people in suits than anything else, and as he watched Bob’s back, Mohinder began to feel like he was crawling deeper into the belly of the beast that was this company.

“Sebastian is already seeing to a patient of mine, Doctor Suresh. The one I would like you to look after as well,” Bob told the scientist as he stopped before a door. “Unfortunately, Dr. Pratt has said he doesn’t care to work with you anymore, and I can’t ask that of you, either.”

“This isn’t a game of favors, _Bob,_ ” Mohinder informed him, glancing warily towards the closed door. “I don’t have to do anything for you or your Company. I’m not sure I even want to know what sort of mess you’ve gotten yourselves into.”

Mohinder turned the knob and pushed open the door, stepping inside. The first thing his eyes came upon was the hospital bed. It was fitted with the usual machines looming over a patient, a person made much smaller in comparison to the shadows of technology that haunted the bedside like reapers waiting for the right moment. Heart rate, blood pressure, they were reduced to numbers and glitches on a screen, but in truth they couldn’t tell much about the pathetic creature whose limbs were slave to the needles and sensors. 

She was a girl, no older or younger than her twenties, Mohinder was sure, though she appeared far younger amidst large pillows and with a sallow color to her skin. She had blonde hair almost reminiscent of Claire Bennet, but cut shorter and straighter. Her eyes were closed, long lashes held down by a feverish sleep that left her sweating and weak. Mohinder could see immediately that this girl was as sick as the Haitian had been sick. Her thin hands twitched a little against the sheets and her breathing stayed quick and shallow. One couldn’t help but be struck by pity at the mere sight of her.

When Mohinder stepped in farther, eyes upon the girl, he almost missed the doctor at her side, the man who adjusted her new IV. He turned around in time to catch Mohinder’s sympathetic look, and smiled widely in his friendly fashion.

“Ah, Mohinder. You’re awake,” Sebastian greeted him as though all were normal and well.

Mohinder turned his gaze to Sebastian, expression immediately falling to confusion and relief. “Sebastian? Are you al-” 

And then he saw it.

An ID tag, indicating Sebastian’s name and access level, was pinned neatly to the white lab coat over his shoulders.

Mohinder’s eyes widened. “You…”

“Work for the enemy, I’m afraid,” Sebastian smiled most naturally, and Mohinder felt his stomach lurch, falling back a little inside, tumbling over his uneasiness. “But don’t hold it against yourself for not knowing, friend. I’m very convincing, I know,” Sebastian winked. 

A sick sensation of shame coiled inside Mohinder, washing through his face and down his body. “This entire time… the samples we couldn’t obtain from India…” Mohinder’s eyes widened, and he looked at Sebastian in disbelief. All this time, he didn’t have the materials from Sebastian’s work in India for a very specific, now obvious, reason. The night of his abduction had shown him that. “ _You_ injected Sanjog! You killed an innocent boy!” Mohinder accused incredulously.

“To get to you, I know, I know. It’s simply _awful_ the things people are capable of _,_ ” Sebastian sighed out in a mocking tone, strolling towards the end of the bed and Mohinder’s disoriented figure. “We would have liked to study him more, but with no other way to smoke you out of your little hole, what could we do?” Sebastian let his fingers trail along the corner of the bed, an amused smile on his lips. 

Bob stood in the doorway, arms crossed. He seemed anxious, but allowed Sebastian to enjoy his brief reveal before they continued. If Mohinder was too angry to think straight, he wouldn’t be able to work properly; they had to get the tension out of their systems beforehand.

Shaking his head, Mohinder clenched his jaw tightly. “Sylar was right about you all along. I should have listened to him,” Mohinder seethed, angry in part at himself for his naivety, for his inability to trust Sylar’s instincts.

Sebastian put a hand to his own cheek dramatically and smiled. “Oh, we were so close, Mohinder. It’s so very sad.” He lowered his voice a little, more privately, eyes narrowing. “You know, I always wondered what I’d be able to get away with if that poor excuse for a serial killer weren’t always nipping at your heels. We could have been wonderful, Mohinder.”

The pull back of Mohinder’s fist was almost as quick as the strike across Sebastian’s face. The blow impacted with brutal force, and Sebastian was thrown back against the hospital bed, rolling it to the side as he stumbled and hit the floor. Raymond moved towards the door to grab Mohinder, but Bob merely held up a hand, allowing the scientist his moment to glower down at Sebastian, breath quick and furious.

“We are _nothing,_ Sebastian! You’d best be warned, I may not put a bullet in your head myself, but once Sylar gets his hands on you there won’t even be lips left on your face to smile with. And believe me, the satisfaction will be mine,” Mohinder promised darkly, fists clenched at his sides, shaking with rage.

Struggling to his feet, Sebastian lifted a shaky hand to his eye, which was now sporting a stream of blood running through it from the split skin above. He grinned widely. “H-hah… I look forward to a death so sweet, Mohinder. Believe me.”

“Enough! Enough of this nonsense. You two can spend as much time as you want beating each other up to sort this out later,” Bob interrupted, stepping inside and putting a hand on Mohinder’s shoulder. Though Mohinder flung it off as though it were fire, Bob persisted with a heavy sigh. “Doctor Suresh, the girl you see here, she’s dying from the virus.”

“I gathered that much,” Mohinder replied curtly.

“And she’s my daughter,” Bob added, letting a meaningful gaze rest on the doctor.

Mohinder turned to Bob, a suspicious look on his face. So Pratt had been telling the truth after all? “Your daughter? Did she contract the virus naturally?”

When Bob replied only with a grave expression, Mohinder made a disgusted noise in his throat.

“What is _wrong_ with you people? Don’t you understand how dangerous it is to try to play God with these people’s lives? Creating mutated strains? Infecting the populace? You could have a potential pandemic on your hands!” Mohinder shook his head in disbelief, staring from Bob to Sebastian, who was now cleaning up the blood at the side counter and holding gauze to his brow. “And your own daughter?” Mohinder continued. He felt a heated sense of justice rising inside him, a fresh bitterness, thinking of how his own father had to watch Shanti die unwillingly of this virus, while this Company man had knowingly injected his own child. “Have you no shame? No morals as a father?”

“I am doing what I do to protect people just like my daughter, Doctor Suresh,” Bob replied defensively. “Thirty years, ago we started research on your sister’s virus as a way to discover how to eliminate dangerous abilities.”

“And to create a weapon against people who opposed you, I’m sure,” Mohinder replied fiercely. “What makes you think I’ll help you now? After all that you’ve done to get me here?”

Bob stepped forward, around Mohinder, and placed his hands against the foot of the hospital bed, pushing it to stand perpendicular to the wall again. He gazed at the thin, sweating excuse for a girl lost amongst sheets and pillows. “She’s dying, Doctor Suresh. Mohinder,” he replied, letting his eyes move from Elle to Mohinder again. “I think you’ll help us, me, now, because your moral compass always faces true north. You started this research to help people.” Bob gave a small sigh and looked towards Mohinder. The man detected a subtle, but present, sense of regret there. “We could have used directive like yours in this time of need, you know. When all of this began. Things might have been different after Kirby Plaza. It’s a shame you couldn’t be found.”

Mohinder rested his gaze seriously on Bob’s, feeling a reluctant sympathy for the pending death of his daughter. 

“Yes… that is a shame, isn’t it?”

 


End file.
